Mephistophelian Concupiscence
by apathetical
Summary: Debauchery, betrayal and sporadic douses of the supernatural weaves a dangerous path for the Queen's guard dog and her demon of a butler. Will Kuchiki Rukia drown in the deception of the Victorian Era's underworld or in the orbit of fervent lust? [ IchiRuki ] [ Black Butler / Kuroshitsuji AU ]
1. Prologue

Conscious awoke but physique remained boneless, suspended somewhere within the endless wasteland. Thick lashes fluttered open to reveal a melancholy indigo, dragging warily across the crimson cloth draped over her petite frame to the eldritch shade of unfathomable grey above.

No reaction.

The encroaching presence of another would have resulted in the spineless girl from before to freeze with fear. Battered, broken, yet to be defiled, the last reminder of her chaste – those pure eyes of amethyst – drifted with the crane of her neck. The remaining Kuchiki's lips twisted a morbid smile, none of her tragedy being betrayed by a carefully trained countenance as the second presence solidified. Tendrils of smoke – grey and macabre as the immediate surroundings – engaged in a gradual dissipation, revealing a mane of ebony as dark as her own and startingly crimson hues, piercing every inch of her soul with voracious intent. The nameless figure exuded an aura thick with the darkness and a depravity that wrapped around her slender throat and squeezed, a shudder spreading along her spine as the ability of inspiration become more and more daunting. Swathed in bandages, the chiseled figure could be likened as a deity in place of a demon.

When he spoke, an involuntary jolt of – was it trepidation? – brought some life back to her immobile frame.

"Understand that once a contract is formed, you will be granted neither heaven nor hell. Your afterlife will belong to me."

Rukia wanted to laugh. A stream of ivory feathers kissed her skin, the purest aspect of this desert void of life. Instead, the beginnings of a snort tickled the back of her throat, chin raised ad haughty words guarding a wounded pride resounded.

"You believe that someone who has summoned a demon would believe in such things?" Not a single trace of the girl riddled by desperation and suffering could be found in this empty shell of a person. Resignation was the word, and it hung heavily in the air.

"Do you still wish to make a contract with me, human?" The baritone intonation was sinful and almost sweet, bindings stripping away from taut muscle with each resounding step.

Her eyes fell shut.

"Don't be tedious," she murmured, breaking free of the wind's spell. The cloth fluttered away, leaving her tiny frame bare as the suspension lifted. Rukia felt herself falling deeper into the waiting darkness, to be ensared by keen claws, which never came. Strong appendages caught her slim build with ease, the swish of a tailcoat reaching her ears. When Rukia's eyes opened next, they were met with striking orange hair and a smirking visage.


	2. Paradise, Interrupted

_**AN:** This is gonna be pretty short, seeing as I wrote this within the span of an hour and it's almost 3AM. But I promised I'd start this and though it's short, the chapters will be longer as the story progresses. For those of you who haven't quite given up on this yet, thank you and I hope it suffices._

* * *

Daybreak came in a burst of rays and had settled in long before the inhabitants of the Manor awoke, and most longed to remain swathed into the warm confines of their bed until perhaps a later hour. As the help dragged themselves out of bed- there was no concern for the East Wing.

Where soft moans dragged from tender lips, swollen and roseate from passionate kisses. The slip in which the noblewoman usually wore during hours of slumber was forgotten on the floor, as a sinful mouth as adulterated as the demon he was trailed from the smooth skin of her stomach, to the bridge of her inner thigh.

A hand weaved through unruly tangerine locks, breath hitched and pools of indigo wide and earnest as ghosted kisses inched closer to her sex.

"Ichi… Ichi…" The timbre of her voice pitched to a pleading whisper, and predatory amber flickered red before the flat of his tongue parted the seat of her folds, wet and moist in anticipation. A low sound keened at the back of her throat, slender palms grasping at a gloved hand.

"Tale it off," was her hoarse command, breath hitching and a half fisted palm coming to cover her mouth as her back arched off the silken sheets, vision momentarily clouding white as the tip of his tongue made contact with sensitive flesh.

"Yes, my lady," the orange-haired male responded, his hot breath unbearable against the bundle of sensitivity and quickly, the glove was removed, a long digit slid into her swollen sheath and curled inwards within shallow thrusts. Dimly, Rukia allowed a hand to weave through cropped orange once more, a flush creeping along pallid skin as her other hand clenched against soft sheets, knuckles stark white against the grey fabric. None of this mattered, nothing except _him_ , his mouth hot on her clit, another finger sliding within her core as toes curled inwards and the coil finally snapped, the sound of his name on her lips and all she saw was _white_ , scorching like a burning fever as waves of pleasure washed over. Her hips arched against his tongue, having descending her highs a panting mess, having to stare down at her smirking butler past a heaving chest.

"Good morning, young master," uttered the demon amiably, licking the remainder of her essence off his fingers before rising to bestow a kiss upon soft lips as his tongue invaded her mouth- evidently the taste of herself against his tongue.

"You're still dressed," hummed the ravenette, nimble digits already making quick work of his trousers, and soon she was filled to the brim, legs hooked around a broad waist and the sound of his name working past her throat in breathy moans…

* * *

Breakfast went by without incident; that was what the young noblewoman was led to think, however. Their chef, Renji, had incidentally managed to decimate at least half the kitchen in preparation of a simple breakfast. Of course, Ichigo was to rectify it quickly as any capable butler would do in that situation.

From afar, Orihime admired the tall male as he worked, only to accidentally lose balance and tumble down the stairs, crashing into an unsuspecting Hanatarou at the base of the stairs.

Though, none of this was to be mentioned as per request (more so threat) of Ichigo, as the brunette daintily took a sip of tea before progressing towards breakfast. It was usually a quiet affair, since Rukia was more or less the only master that was to be served.

Shortly after breakfast came the time she dreaded most: paperwork for the King. Leafing through the documents only led to one conclusion: Whoever was committing these murders, Aizen wanted her to find out who.

A short sigh dispelled, glancing up at the entry of the sharply-dressed male.

"And what would that be? More orders?"

"I've never read your mail beforehand before, young master, you should know that," the male offered a look of reproach, handing over the letter.

"The least you could do is humor me when I'm overwhelmed," snapped the aristocratic female, easing her fingers over the starch envelope. Her eyes froze at the familiar sigil curved along the edge of the paper, and suddenly a lump grew at the base of her throat.

 _It was from her fiancé._

* * *

 _Kind of abrupt, yeah. But I'm going to write up the second chapter soon. I originally wanted to post them together but I figured it'd be more fun if you guessed who her fiance is first, because he'll be a major part of the story later on._


	3. Secrets of the Heart

_**A/N:**_ _Boujour, mes cheries. Swift update, I know. I was pretty inspired so I went ahead and typed this up during my spare time. I just finished moments ago and although I planned on updating at a later date, I just can't do that to all of you who have stuck with me thus far. Rukia's fiance is revealed in this chapter, and he's the main center-point of it as well. So, enjoy!_

* * *

The skies were overcast with a foreboding blanket of grey as a carriage halted in front of the gates of the Kuchiki Manor. Icy shards of rainfall plummeted to the grounds without mercy as the nobleman exited the carriage with little difficulty, followed by his personal head of household. The female held out an umbrella, which the taller male accepted with a nod as a servant hurried out from the manor to assist their awaited guest. As Hanatarou led the pair indoors, Ichigo stood at the base of the stairs with an unreadable expression portrayed by sharp features.

"May I take your coat, sir?" Asked the timid housekeeper. The male simply smiled and shed the long garment himself, and hooked it onto one of the available coat hangers.

"There's no need for that, Hanatarou . . ." The impenetrable gaze of the man would then shift to the butler who had yet to make his presence known, and swiftly hardened in a cold stare. However, the expression was soon shifted to a more amiable one, though both men were well aware of the small exchange.

"And who might you be?" The baritone vocalization was friendly enough, but there was an indistinct intent expressed by that sharp gaze. "A new addition, perhaps?"

The orange-haired butler, however, seemed unfazed by the unveiled undertone within the man's voice and simply smirked, approaching from across the room in a an elegant stride, which concluded with a hospitable bow.

"Ichigo Kurosaki, the new butler of the Kuchiki Household. You must be the young master's… fiancé." The world, however, felt more like a private joke in the manner it had curled and fell from the orangette's tongue. The man was still smirking.

A deep breath drew inwards from the other, followed by the momentary shutting of heavy lashes. "Yes, that would be me. And I'd like to see her, thank you very much."

Three years. Three years had passed since her disappearance. Two of which had been spent in vain trying to locate his beloved. Months had passed since her return, and since then, rumors from far and wide had managed to reach him, and thus penetrate the shield of assurance the man had concerning the petite woman. Just as her family had before, she was working for Aizen, the King. The sweet girl from his childhood had been corrupted by the world he himself had found himself ensnared into and there was nothing that could be done about it now.

"Keep company with Hanatarou. I might be a while," he told the girl at his side, who nodded obediently and shifted towards the familiar male. His gaze shifted expectantly to Rukia's butler, who merely continued smirking and led the way upstairs, and down the left corridor.

After only being in the other man's presence for a maximum of five minutes, something concerning had already registered into his mind. He didn't like this Kursosaki's aura at all, nor the way he carried himself. It was something worth investigating into, thought the young noble, as he stared at the back of the very man's head.

The door was opened, and the butler stepped in first.

"My lady, your guest has arrived."

"Souka. Leave us for now, Ichigo."

His shoulders visibly tensed, and a pause ensued.

"Of course, my lady."

Even he could sense a strained chord in the other man's voice, despite the butler seeming as composed as ever while stepping away and hastening down the corridor. Relieved with the lack of interaction, he simply shrugged and entered.

What he wasn't expecting, however, was the launch of a delicate frame against his chest, a flurry of raven locks against his vision. Though perplexed, his arms naturally curled around her waist and held the petite noblewoman close.

"Toushirou, you're really alive," Rukia said in a tiny whisper, her voice more vulnerable than he had ever heard before.

* * *

Confusion flickered across the white-haired male's features, but it was something that was quickly disregarded as he tucked her head under his chin and continued to hold her tightly. Small hands fisted against the fabric of his waistcoat, and Hitsugaya tried his best to soothe her.

"Don't shed tears for me, Hime. I'm right here, after all." A small smile graced his features, if only for her sake, carefully prying the girl off his form by the gentle hold of her shoulders. Wiping away the budding moisture away from her eyes; just a brilliant shade of indigo as he remembered, teal hues softened.

"Rukia? Why did you believe that I was dead?" His voice was quiet, coaxing; broad palms rubbed against the skin of her shoulders- which was more or less all that was left exposed by her ensemble. A blend of obsidian and lapis lazuli fabric fitted and swathed her slender, corseted form nicely—though, his gaze searched porcelain features which strikingly contrasted from the deep shade.

Kuchiki Rukia never cried, thought the young man, brushing away more tears as a familiar ache strained against his chest. He hadn't been there soon enough when her parents had been murdered—The estate had been swallowed into an inferno of flames, leaving nothing but smoke in a crimson wake. Vaguely, in the haze, Toushirou recalled being restrained by one of the servants, desperate to face the fire himself if it meant finding her. He supposed, that was the moment he realized he loved her wholeheartedly. The sentiment must have existed somewhere deep within, though, it took losing her for his conscience to grasp that.

Never again.

A thumb gently brushed across the swell of her cheek, and a forefinger anchored beneath the sharp angular of the distraught brunette's chin, the pad of his thumb brushing softly against her lips. Momentarily, pools of teal would linger there— a subtle thread of desire would fasten against his chest, prompting the aversion of his gaze.

"Rukia. Tell me."

Vocalization treaded soft, yet commanding. Dual ovals of amethyst widened and brimmed with unshed tears, and the ivory-haired male fought against the desperate urge to draw her against his chest again.

"Alright." The intonation was soft and barely above a whisper, her voice lined with the effects of residual distress. It made him wonder if she had been crying before his arrival.

A deep breath prompted the subtle rise of her shoulders, which quickly receded as she turned, her back to him, and launched into explanation without haste. Vulnerability still shrouded phrases and words—the soft timbre of the noblewoman's generally authoritative voice wavering with emotion on few instances.

 _Flashback;_

– _**Three days ago –**_

 _Knuckles clenched around the unopened letter, almost as white as the paper itself. However, nothing could rival the expression on her face— vague apathy had shifted to anxiety and anguish so quickly, and drained of colour. As her head slowly rose to face her butler, that expression had shifted to hatred and animosity._

" _You told me Toushirou Hitsugaya was dead," she bit out sharply, the intent in her gaze hard as steel. Her arm rose, brandishing the letter before slamming it down on her desk. Both palms stationed there, fingers curling into the groove of the desk as Rukia attempted to calm herself._

" _If so, then why am I still receiving letters from my_ _ **dead**_ _fiancé, Ichigo?"_

 _For the first time since the noblewoman had known the orange-haired demon, confusion flickered over roguish features._

" _He is. I was told so by my sources."_

" _Well, apparently your sources have been mistaken, because he definitely is alive." Having maintained composure, the brunette was in the midst of opening the envelope, violet hues briefly scanning over the conversant penmanship. "It would take a concerning amount of time and dedication to forge one's handwriting, and this is definitely Hitsugaya's."_

 _She seemed to study the elegant scrawl for a considerable amount of time before turning back to the silent orangette with vacant eyes. Tension had undoubtedly risen between the pair—on an individual perspective, that is. Ichigo was uncharacteristically quiet, so she could only imagine what was going through his mind. Surprisingly enough, Rukia didn't care._

 _The petite girl grasped the sheet of paper and swiftly_ _maneuvered_ _towards the door, only turning back to utter the most bitter words to leave her mouth to date._

" _I wish to be excused from my duties for the morning. As it happens, my fiancé seems to have accomplished many things within the time I've been_ _ **fucking**_ _you and it appears I need to reacquaint myself."_

 _Only until powerful strides drew to a close, Rukia shut the door and only then allowed the turbulent of despair, self-denigration and guilt of the worst time crash forward, tears falling freely as her frame sunk to the floor, Toushirou's letter pressed achingly close to her anguished heart._

 _–_ _End of Flashback –_

Of course, the retold version was much less obstinate and lacked certain truth, a fact that wracked against her conscience in merciless torrents as Rukia made her second mistake and turned around. The look in his eyes—so full of love, and empathy, made her want to melt and cry at the same time. Her unyielding resolve was breaking— all because of this one man.

But he wasn't just any man, he was Hitsugaya Toushirou. The prodigy, who had completed his university studies before turning fourteen. Gifted with striking features, immense wealth and the care of a loving father, this was the man every other dreamed of being and every girl wished to be courted by.

However high his achievements, Rukia would always love him for his heart, which was big enough to accept her flaws, her frigidity, and everything else she had thrown at him from the moment they had met as toddlers to current day.

And, as that very man, the one that her heart had buried its sentiments for under layers and layers of ice— he was pulling her into his embrace again, and as her head fell into the crook of his neck— those barriers all melted away as her arms circled his waist. Sweet nothings were whispered into her ears, and allowed the opportunity to disregard the burden on her shoulders, the mark of death just above, the smirking demon in her dreams—His scent surrounded and permeated the barriers of her mind, and nothing else seemed of importance except the warmth of his arms, and the husky intonations against the shell of her ear.

* * *

 _18th March, 1875_

 _Dearest Rukia,_

 _I'm afraid mere words on a page cannot begin to express how relieved I was to hear of your return, and safety. At the moment, business has been quite taxing, and my affairs have extended outside of London. Currently, my presence has been expected in Germany, but within a matter of days, I will be able to return to you. Perhaps you have heard, but father has passed. Hence, my heavy involvement in his business affairs._

 _However, this matters not. The most important thing to me currently is that you are well and safe. In the past years of your absence, I'm afraid I haven't been doing well… And I'm quite anxious for our reunion. I understand there is the possibility that you might be occupied with your own affairs but I will try my best from refraining to intrude. I myself have been swamped with work as you imagine, so I plead your forgiveness for not reaching out sooner._

 _This seems rather short and abrupt, so I must admit; I'm experiencing difficulty with what to say. Trepidation still exists in my heart, because the notion of losing you a second time still haunts me. However, I hope that once we are reacquainted, this feeling disappears forever. I've also missed your birthday, and I apologize for that. I will find some way to atone for that once my presence is predominant in London, which may be very soon._

 _Once again, hoping you are well, Hime. I love you, always remember that. Wait for me, if I have enough right to ask that of you._

 _Love,_

 _Toushirou._

 _A.N: And, that concludes the second chapter. Review me your thoughts! Were you expecting (adult) Toushirou?! I know someone was, and trust me, he has a major role to play. What do you think Ichigo's feeling right now? Ah, I'm all excited and I'm the author. Stay tuned._


	4. Neutral Tones

_**A.N:** I must apologize for the incredibly late update, but most of it was because of my own laziness and then the typhoon that was the ending of the manga (lol what ending) happened and it affected me fractionally to say the least. Speaking of, I've written an alternative ending that is pretty much non-compliant to 686 and implies IchiRuki. It's called **Connotations ** and has been posted a week or two ago if anyone wants to give it a read. _

_Back to business: This chapter is particularly long compared to the previous ones, and more or less fleshes out Rukia and her relationship with Ichigo, which I found kind of necessary since we're jumping straight into plot next chapter._ _A lot is happening here and I debated splitting it in two but I think I'll stick with this length with upcoming chapters. Please remember to read & review!~_

* * *

Anger rolled off the orange-haired butler in waves, shoulders drawn stiff with tension while descending the winding staircase. As the soles of his shoes thudded against each step, a flash of red eroded his vision, and as a familiar manic peal of laughter ran through his mind like static, electricity— Ichigo pressed two digits to his temple in an attempt to dissuade his inner demon. The ache in his fangs was testament to the burning desire to rip the very soul out of the white-haired man embracing his lord— his _Rukia_ , in the confines of her study. The embodiment of instinct that lurked within—bloodthirsty and desperate for any chance to break free—thrived upon his fact, and took glee in tormenting its host.

' _He has the Queen,'_ taunted the malicious voice, echoing and ricocheting at the back of his mind.

The words burned and seared into the demon's conscience, and his eyes burned the colour of molten gold.

' _You should rip him apart, limb from limb, King. Right in front of her, and then take her right there.'_

His hands curled around the sleek rails— cool iron against his fingertips, an anchor to stability. Ichigo's hunched form vibrated with unconcealed rage as the distorted voice cackled hysterically at the minor victory, until the sound pounded and pounded against his eardrums until the branch of self-composure snapped into pieces, and Ichigo's lip curled back into an animalistic snarl.

"SHUT UP!" he roared, and as the taunting laughter faded, so did the crimson haze of fury. His grip on the banister slackened and elongated fangs reverted to blunt teeth. Blood still pumped heavily through his veins and thrummed against his veins. The colour from his eyes did not fade, nor did the negative pulse of anger.

Rukia was his, his, his and his alone, his name was marked and scorched upon her very soul, the ghost of his hands and mouth on her skin, every part of her impossibly and inexplicably belonged to him in ways no ordinary _human_ could comprehend nor challenge—

"Kurosaki-kun?" It was a timid voice that caused him to turn, suddenly aware of the other presence in the open space.

"I heard shouting… I was worried something was wrong," Inoue Orihime continued with a bit more courage, and Ichigo smiled inwardly to himself. At this very moment, Inoue reminded him of a startled doe.

And he was the poised lion, ready to strike.

There was a flicker of fear in her slate eyes as he continued down the steps, until he stood right in front of the frightened female. She was taller than Rukia by about half a head, he noticed, but quailed easily under his impenetrable stare, prompting the ghost of a smirk to flutter across his lips. Until this moment, the most his presence had instilled in the busty maid were fanciful caprices. Now all of that was replaced by unadulterated fear by the menacing aura of darkness surrounding the handsome male.

Ichigo smiled a predator's smile, before reverting into the charming persona of the mysterious butler he was.

"I'm afraid you were mistaken, I haven't heard a thing, Inoue-san," the orangette finally replied smoothly, gently brushing past the female as he proceeded else.

"Inform Renji to start preparing dinner early. I, however, will not be here until a later hour."

"H-Hai," stumbled the confused girl, her eyes briefly lingering upon Ichigo's retreating form before hurrying off toward the kitchens.

* * *

Night fell quickly, and between the timescope of Ichigo's abrupt departure and when the clock finally struck twelve, the manor was devoid of the household butler's presence. Activity went on as per usual; Renji managed to just barely burn dinner while a joint effort was made by Hanatarou and a very shaken Inoue Orihime to serve both their lord and the new guest on the premises.

Unlike what one would expect of a woman who was had just been reunited with her fiancé, Rukia's stature and overall demeanour remained quite frigid; calm and controlled as she engaged in small talk with said man, whose gaze concealed understandable concern. No one in the room could quite see the turmoil that stormed behind the coolness of her gaze, as waves of guilt, despair, frustration and struggle battered against the barrier of conscience, its hard steel reduced to a crumbling pillar of stone.

Long after the table had been cleared and the three — four, including Hitsugaya's — had retired for the night, the butler returned with even more of a burden on his shoulders than before. A fist routinely clenched and unclenched at his side, a calming mechanism as the orange-haired male crossed the threshold and strode down the corridor, lit under the flickering wicker of carefully arranged candles. Against the soft illumination, a shadow of well-defined shoulders and the swish of a tailcoat descended, coming to a pause at a familiar room.

A gloved hand pushed, and the barrier preventing entry came as no surprise. Her aura thrummed not nearly as bright behind the wooden frames, streaked with a murky hue he couldn't pinpoint as one singular emotion. Heaving a sigh, Ichigo knelt at the base of the dual doors, his fingers brushing the area where her shoulders were pressed, right at the other side, barely inches away.

"I'm sorry, Rukia," he murmured, in a tone much heavier with remorse than one would anticipate. For a moment, he listened in, only to be met with nothing but utter silence.

Rising to his feet, the demon brushed a hand down his front and retreated to his own quarters, extinguishing the candles as he went.

* * *

It took all of the tireless lessons of etiquette forcefully instilled by former tutors for the noblewoman to not gape in horror as various dishes were lined out before her. Steamed rice, miso soup, *tamagoyaki, *natto, and *kobachi were presented before her and the household's guest, who apparently wasn't accustomed to being awake at six the morning, as Rukia finally re-emerged from her disturbing stupor at her butler's sudden nonchalance, her gaze slanting towards the white-haired man who was having trouble not mirroring her earlier expression due to the uncanny precision and . . . immaculateness displayed by her butler.

"And a fruit salad, so that your appetites won't be spoiled," Ichigo concluded, lowering the final dish onto the breakfast table. Rukia contemplated hurling it at his infuriatingly perfect face, but suppressed the primitive urge.

"Since Hitsugaya-san has been away for quite some time, traditional Japanese dishes will be prepared for the course of his visit, as you can see." The butler gestured toward the table and then stepped away, quite aware that his actions and overall demeanor was being monitored by the other man.

Eyes of cerulean flickered upwards, a gloved hand reaching for chopsticks and a bowl of rice. "While I… appreciate the gesture, it certainly isn't necessary— "

"But I insist," Ichigo interrupted, his mouth curling into a shark's smile. "After all, you are our guest."

There was something in the orange-haired butler's tone that struck a chord in the white-haired noble, who decided that conceding was an advisable retreat. As he chewed silently, Toushirou kept a watchful eye on Ichigo as he left the room to fetch the morning paper, unable to shake that feeling that appeared whenever in proximity with said man. It snaked and coiled against his throat, almost suffocating, like smog and smoke.

He cleared his throat, which earned the attention of Rukia, who quickly shifted her gaze towards him. It didn't go unnoticed where her eyes had previously been, however.

"Your butler… he's…" Toushirou hesitated. " … Unique, if I may say so. You seem rather close," he commented lightly, resting the empty bowl onto the table.

Although far from the realm of sight, the petite woman's heartbeat quickened. Nevertheless, Rukia attempted to maintain composure, offering a slight nod as she took a sip of tea.

"I suppose we are," she murmured, her gaze darting from the pristine surface of the table to her fiancé. The cup was deposited gently into its saucer, and Rukia leaned in on her elbows before elaborating.

"Ichigo… rescued me from my captors." It wasn't far from the truth, at least.

 _Flashback_ — _Approximately Three Years Ago_

 _ **17**_ _ **th**_ _ **June, 1871**_

 _ **Location: UNKNOWN**_

 _As heavy lids fluttered open, the ethereal dreamscape faded; feathers of ivory and the unnerving helm of darkness, a source of unexpected comfort— torn away. Her skin felt clammy and unusually cold, as though her back was pressed down against a block of ice. Palms flexed forward, only to be obstructed by metal binds encircling her tiny wrists._

 _A ceiling._

 _That was the first thing in sight as she cracked open a lid, dimly aware of the shuffle of activity in the room—rather, the warehouse, as the sloping apex of the rooftop suggested._

 _The lined face of a vaguely familiar man loomed far too close a proximity for her liking, and suddenly, there it was: a spike of pure, unadulterated fear, bloomed at the zenith of her chest and ripped into her throat, where her heart beat wildly, pounding against her eardrums, at the point of bursting._

 _A grin crossed the depraved man's obnoxious features, one that sent an involuntary chill down her spine._

" _Finally awake, eh?" The male's foul breath hit her nose, and she recoiled back as far as she could, flattening herself against the cool surface._

 _There was the fleeting sound of a blade being drawn against steel, and her eyes pressed shut, one rebellious sliver of violet left exposed to see the cleaver being wielded at her, the sharpened steel pressing against the skin of her throat mere seconds later, drawing delicate beads of blood against milk-white skin._

" _I reckon you'd sell better if you were chopped up in pieces, especially—"_

 _However, her almost-murderer never got a chance to finish that decadent taunt, as screams and shouts of pain echoed from nearby, followed by the unmistakable thuds of fallen men. Swift as a shadow, her assailant was torn away from her line of sight, the clutter of the butcher's knife falling to the floor before a final scream tore from his throat._

 _The brush of gloved fingertips effectively breaking through her bounds prompted the young noble to finally open her eyes, greeted by the acquainted sight of orange hair and a smirking visage._

" _My, my, what a troublesome little human you are…" the demon tutted at the now sitting female, dressed in nothing but a crisp white shirt that dwarfed her form._

" _And you take too long. We all have our flaws," she replied smoothly, offering a saccharine smile while daintily dabbing a stolen handkerchief at the thin line of blood along the line of her neck._

 _A pause ensued, before she spoke again._

" _And it's not 'human'. It's Kuchiki Rukia."_

 _End of Flashback_

"….But apart from that, he's a man of many talents and I'm quite fortunate to have him as a butler. He encouraged me to establish Funtom Corporation and recruited the rest of my staff as well, sans Hanatarou. He still remains the only member of our... previous staff."

With that, Rukia fell silent, and the prodigy nodded in understanding, taking on an emphatic role. The fire that destroyed the first Kuchiki Manor took more than just possessions— most of the household's servants and both Rukia's parents perished by those very flames.

Hitsugaya wasn't sure if Ichigo had the best or worst timing, because his return was able to slice through the thickening tension in the room.

"Am I interrupting something?" the orange-headed man's smooth voice caused lavender irises to rotate his way, narrowing upon the two broadsheets neatly tucked into the crook of his arm, a wad of letters held gently into a single gloved hand.

"Not at all," Rukia responded curtly, straightening as she observed Ichigo offered one of the newspapers to the white-haired prodigy, who hesitated greatly before accepting with a strained murmur of thanks.

The rigidity between both men was stifling, but the noblewoman sought after much more important matters. After much difficulty, much to the irate woman's displeasure, Rukia finally managed to catch the butler's gaze, opting for silent communication. Her eyes shifted to the letters in hand, and arched an obsidian brow.

Thankfully, Ichigo understood immediately.

"…As much as I'm certain the young master would appreciate some time for leisure, I'm afraid she has quite an eventful day today," he began, silently motioning for Orihime to clear the table. "Hitsugaya-san, you're free to explore the manor or visit the gardens in the meantime.

"And I loathe this monotonous type of module," said master sighed, rising to her feet, but bent to place a chaste kiss against Toushirou's cheek. "We'll meet again, or so I hope," she joked lightly, earning a small chuckle.

"Don't be theatrical. I'll see you soon." He promised, and she offered a gentle wave before trailing intently behind the demon up the staircase.

* * *

As soon as the door of her study closed, the brunette boosted herself onto the hardwood desk and crossed one stockinged feet over the other, held out a hand and cast an expectant look towards the orangette.

"Well? I assume a letter from Aizen arrived, and I _assume_ you're already aware of that. So I'd like to see it."

Rukia's demanding tone earned a smirk from Ichigo, who handed them over obediently.

Sadly, not silently.

"I would never peruse your private mail unwarranted, young master," hummed the butler, who was clearly guilty of doing just that.

"Certainly not," was her saccharine response— albeit distracted, as slender digits leafed through the small stack of mail.

Dark brows furrowed, swiftly separating the various business proposals and notice of prospective investors into a pile, until the final envelope remained in her hands. Pinning her butler with a displeased stare, Rukia raised the letter, flickering the clearly already-opened seal back and forth with her thumb.

Ichigo, however, remained feigning ignorance, and even had the gall to show amusement.

To this, the young lord rolled her eyes. "Was it really necessary to lie?"

Nevertheless, she retrieved the sheet of paper doubled inside the envelope, unfolding it quickly. Eyes of amethyst quickly scanned the first few lines, her forehead already creased with lines of confusion.

 _Dearest Rukia,_

 _Concern strikes me not for the first time on this day. In the darkness of the night, evil has shown time after time to thrive under the safety of the shadows. A known enigma without a name surfaces without motive; a pillar of malevolence to the lady who braves the night._

 _I pray that my trepidations be quelled soon, and peace returns safe and sound. Seek those who combat with the security of slumber, and do take care. Dark times descend, and it is prudent to remain wary of those who enter your home. Keep your friends close, and your enemies even closer._

 _Hoping you're well,_

 _Sosuke Aizen._

After having read (and re-read) the quite short correspondence, the noblewoman pursed her lips in thought, her palms resting against the slate surface of the desktop.

"He's referring to Jack the Ripper, no? And 'ladies of the night' must be the prostitutes murdered by him," Rukia concluded softly, looking at the male for approval.

Ichigo offered a hum of approval, leafing through the pages of the newsletter. "And to the fact that murders have become more frequent. There was one last night." A gloved digit tapped at the front page, which displayed the rather bold title of ' **JACK THE RIPPER STRIKES AGAIN — 6 MORE MURDERED** '.

"He appears to be rather methodical," he went on, mostly to himself, "Lacerations to the abdominal area before the throat is slit. In some cases, organs were reported missing from that of the victim's corpse."

"This seems to be more than the case of an organ trafficker," Rukia said, brows knitting together. "The black market is a questionable place but this is blatant murder. And blatant murder usually expresses aggression or contains some type of statement."

Ichigo could almost see the wheels turning in her pretty little head— her little, brilliant head, and it made him wonder why she wasn't nearly as credited for her intellect.

A slim forefinger curled beneath her chin, the ridge of her thumb pressed into the purse of rosy lips.

His heated gaze lingered.

"A surgeon," Rukia said finally, snapping her fingers. "That would explain everything. Resources, connections, experience, most of all."

"A plausible notion," the dark-eyed demon replied flippantly, cornering her with ease against the desk.

Amber hues flecked crimson under the candlelight, and concealed relish as the girl so easily within his reach gave an involuntary shudder. He saw struggle in her eyes, _conflict_ — it had been days since they had been this startlingly close, and his palms hovered dangerously near to her hips before settling against the surface of the desk, caging her in.

"But, what if it was just the mere act of an organ trafficker?" The inquiry falls against the shell of her ear, prompting the sweet hitch of her breath. "Would you still refuse to see the malevolence that lurks within humans?"

Rukia hums; the soft sound reverberates within her throat and while the thick lashes framing her eyes descended aflutter— slim digits weaved into tangerine locks, lazily carding through the unruly mass of hair as a lazy smirk graced her porcelain features.

"Ah, but why does the Underworld exist, and who makes use of it? Those with power, with influence," the noblewoman replied in a silvery murmur, and violet eyes lit with an inexplicable merge of mirth, solemnity and playfulness. "No one would like that would risk everything for something as trivial as murder, no matter how much irony weighs in this statement. I would know, after all."

She paused, then asked, "But who would?"

"I don't know," he responded in tandem, and for the first time, _he didn't know_.

Her fingers preened his hair for the final time, before gracing defined cheekbones with a gentle (almost loving) caress.

"Those who have nothing," she said simply, allowing gentle palms to anchor against Ichigo's broad shoulders. She almost forgot how they felt—strong and sturdy beneath the tender squeeze of her fingers.

"Or at least, those with nothing to lose. Human rationale is governed by virtues of restraint. However, it is often lost, within certain circumstances, which draw relation to the Seven Deadly Sins."

Their proximity bordered on hazardous; soft breaths fanned out against Ichigo's lips and her gaze dipped from sight's reach.

" _Greed_."

The flicker of _that_ memory glimmered beneath the surface of her carefully-assembled façade — a warehouse, a cleaver against her throat, the scorch of smoke against her lungs and the repulsive scent of burning flesh — and as pools of ameythst lifted, he found himself drowning in them.

" _Envy_."

The flicker of _that_ memory glimmered beneath the surface of his normally composed features — hair white as snow, the woman he desired enfolded in another man's embrace — and tawny hues darkened, looming closer with the tilt of his chin.

" _Lust_."

Her tongue wrapped around the word like silken lace—rich with sultry promise. If there was ever a breaking point, this was it. Hands deftly parted her thighs, blunt nails raking up the dark sheen of fabric pulled taut against her skin, broad hips lodging between her thighs in a moment of wonderful friction.

" _Wrath_."

A yellow-eyed demon flared at the back of his mind, only to be obliterated, _silenced_ by the powerful surge of desire as soft digits weaved into orange hair, lips planting sensual kisses down the smooth column of the noblewoman's throat as palms squeezed into the swell of her hips and netted legs hooked around his waist in a haze of pleasure.

" _Sloth_."

Timbre hitched, roseate lips unconsciously parted in a laboured breath as Ichigo's sinful mouth descended upon the swell of a supple breast, nipping into the creamy skin. The fabric of the brunette's apparel dipped to reveal half of a spectral skull inked just above her heart (engulfed in a burning violet haze), which beat erratically as his lips neared, engulfing every single nerve in her body in a scorching heat. Slender digits curled into the vibrant mass they were currently buried within and pulled, pioneering the demon's head forward, prompting the astral collision of their gazes, locked like the heavens under the sun.

"And _Pride_ ," Rukia whispered, just a beat before their lips met in a passionate union. Through layered apparel, the Kuchiki girl could still feel the heat of his body pressed taut against her chest, thick strokes of blistering arousal blooming at the pit of her stomach as his hips ground insistently into her heated warmth.

Before things could escalate more than they already had, the petite girl wrenched away with a heavy pant, her modest chest heaving as she inhaled a lungful of much-needed air. She is a welcoming sight of flushed skin and kiss-swollen lips, a dainty palm pressed against his chest, also lifting along the weight of heavy breaths.

"Though, you can infer which of these work in tandem with the theory at hand, and those that are rather based off… indulgence," Rukia breathed out, the sweep of her tongue moistening her lips as she worked to adjust her current apparel.

Her thumb and forefinger pinched into each side of the uneven bowtie at his neck, straightening it with methodical precision before smoothing her palms down his clothed chest, noting distractedly how familiar the firmness of defined muscle felt under her skin.

Worrying her lower lip, she glanced to the side. "It would be prudent to prioritize the task at hand. Contact our usual . . . clientele, Kurotsuchi and Kenpachi if necessary."

Ichigo offered a vague nod, reluctantly parting from her enticing frame and lifted the newspaper, staring down at the article with an unreadable expression.

The orange-haired male straightened and cleared his throat— a smidgen more disarrayed than he typically appeared, much to Rukia's amusement.

"Seeing as the most recent murder was last night, perhaps we should pay a visit to Urahara," he murmured thoughtfully, choosing to disregard the look of utter dismay of the noblewoman. It was common knowledge that Rukia was not fond of the eccentric man.

"Do as you see fit," she replied softly, sliding off of the desk as lean digits brushed imaginary dust off her dark apparel. "I'll remain here and complete my studies until further notice. Uncover as much as you can. Mysteries are tedious, and you know rather well I'd never pursue a ghost."

Lavender irises hardened into steel, however momentarily, as a familiar smirk graced her butler's handsome visage. Calloused fingers curled into the crook of her own, drawing her dainty palm forward to press a lingering kiss just beneath the gentle swell of knuckles.

" _Yes, my lord."_

Behind the closed door of the study, Hitsugaya walked away, a troubled expression marring his features.

* * *

Morning soon rolled into early afternoon; the heat of midday substituted by a soothing breeze. Towering sakura yet to take bloom produced rivuleting shadows at the very core, tended diligently by the tender hand of Hanatarou (though, it was really Ichigo most of the time). From rosy peonies brimming with colour to gentle springs of irises, larkspur, and honeysuckle, bearing an overwhelmingly honeyed fragrance that wafted along with the breeze, swept along by rain-kissed leaves. A spray of orchids border clusters upon clusters of roses— a hue exhibiting harmony against the deep, velvet beige of Black Magic, fringed by abysmal shades of carmine swirling into a boundless vortex of sanguine. Sunlight flecked against the dark petals, offering an almost translucent glow that seems far too ethereal, in a way that rendered the laws of the universe asunder.

Like a pillar of grace, Rukia stood at the very core, an arm stretched as the swell of knuckles caress the gentle dip of silken petals, and though executing great precision, her mind was anywhere but the present. Sharp features slacken into a faraway look, as though left astray by the plush smoothness just beneath her fingertips.

Enwreathed in a kaleidoscope of flora each more vibrant than the next, he found her to be a kindred spirit with the luminous blossoms, the most exotic of them all.

Toshiro cleared his throat, observing with furrowed brows as the noblewoman immediately stiffened. Her arm fell back to her side, and she turned.

Genuine surprise seemed to grace her countenance—with a force, he noted, and the subtle shift in her disposition didn't go by unnoticed.

"Ah, Toshiro," she greeted, poised and amiable as ever. However, the articulately constructed veneer was swiftly beginning to become opaque, and the white-haired noble could see the subtle cracks. "I hadn't noticed you until now. Have you had a tour, perchance?"

"… No." He hesitated, sapphire optics softening in apprehension. "But, is everything alright?"

For a split second, the foreign manifestation of conflict almost graced her countenance, but vanished as fast as it had appeared.

Slim shoulders squared, and Rukia managed the ghost of a smile.

"I appreciate the concern, but everything is quite alright," the noblewoman murmured, and shifted away from the verdant rosebushes. Long locks of ebony flowed down her back, and palms clasped behind her back in accordance.

Hitsugaya inhaled deep, because under no circumstance this confrontation should occur, over a matter so trivial nonetheless. However, matters of the heart tended to transcend the barriers of rationality, no matter how well-fortified.

"Rukia, I know about your involvement in the underworld endeavours. And I've been aware for quite a long time, but I was unable to come to terms with it . . . until now?"

"And why is it so challenging to believe?" Rukia inquired calmly, and her gaze narrowed into a pointed stare.

A myriad of expectations had flittered through his mind moments before those leaden words had been uttered, most of which had been well-thought out during many, many hours dedicated to soothing inner turmoil.

But Toshiro could have never predicted this.

"Because you aren't this type of person," he says quietly, but deep down, knows that this argument is weak.

The seam of pursed lips was parted by a flash of tongue, swiftly moistening the dry skin as a sigh bloomed within the refines of her chest, and exited in a heavy exhale.

"The type of person I am isn't decided by who you'd rather me be," Rukia answered shortly; warning underlying the low timbre of her voice, with unfathomable eyes that could slice through iron.

Her steps are effortless as she returned to the rosebush, idly tracing a forefinger along the velvety plunge of a deep red—almost black, rose petal. The sunlight streamed through obsidian tresses, casting the impression of an iridescent hue against curled locks spilling across her shoulders in dark rivulets.

"I won't deny anything that was said, because it's the simple truth. The Kuchiki's have served as watchdogs for the siege as long as records can attest to."

Opaque amethyst remained dark and hardened to steel, even as her piercing stare diverted. Carefully, the dark-haired girl wound her fingers along the flower stalk, wary of thorns.

A resounding snap echoed as deceptively frail digits effectively severed the beautiful bloom, now cradled into her palm.

"And I know how you must feel about that. Your father, Ukitake-san, was a good man, and managed to look past the nature of our duty and bound our families together. But today, neither of our parents is alive, and such ties can surely be severed given the right incentive."

Speechless, the prodigy could only stare helplessly at the woman who was to be his wife — a notion that could, quite possibly, be taken away in the blink of an eye — seeing this taciturn side of her for the very first time.

"Rukia …"

Before anything else could be uttered, said female softly shook her head and fixed her impenetrable gaze upon him, never wavering.

"Make no mistake, three years have passed, and if you thought I would remain the same, then clearly you were mistaken."

 _Flashback_ — _Approximately Three Years Ago_

 _ **23**_ _ **rd**_ _ **August, 1871**_

 _ **Location: Kuchiki Manor**_

 _Midway into a leisurely stroll, Rukia turned on her heel and stared forward. In turn, Ichigo stopped as well, broad palms clasping behind his back. On the soil the previous had been burnt to the ground, the newly-rebuilt version of the Kuchiki Manor stood proud and majestic. Having still been a mere work-in-progress a week or so ago, Rukia found a swell of pride in her heart at the finished production, an almost-mirror image of the house she had lived in for so many age._

 _And though new fixtures entered her life, much like the demon at her side, whom, strangely enough, became a source of security rather than a thorn at her side. Yet, timeworn ghosts still resurfaced from time to time, much like the absence of her parents still lingered at the back of the mind and fashioned a lump at her throat._

 _Rukia tore her gaze away, effectively breaking whatever wistful reverie she had fallen into successively broke. Slim shoulders fell lax and she turned to the orange-haired male._

" _You did well on overseeing the reconstruction. It almost looks exactly the same," she said quietly, pushing a dark lock of hair behind her ear. "Thank you."_

 _Her feet set in motion, and he followed at her side._

" _Have you given any thought to my name? We've been together for months now and you still seem undecided," her demon butler stated nonchalantly, his dark eyes observing her countenance._

" _I have," Rukia answered, as the wind picked up. Soon, dark tresses only barely brushing along her shoulders were sent aflutter along the strong gusts, which the girl steadily brushes away from her youthful features._

 _And truly attesting to the multi-faceted young woman he had been given the innate pleasure of knowing for the past months, a smirk graced her porcelain face._

" _But, perhaps I've grown quite fond of referring to you as 'carrot-top'," she replied innocently, batting impossibly long lashes in an attempt of beguilement._

 _However, no matter how much of an anomaly the orange-haired male considered the petite lord to be, she was often quite . . . exasperating._

 _He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, and glanced forward pointedly. "Be serious."_

" _Kurosaki Ichigo," she said almost instantaneously, her pretty mouth stretching into a rare simper. "That is the name I've decided on. Kurosaki means 'dark destination'._

" _And I'm assuming the 'strawberry' refers to my hair," the butler responded dryly, unable to muster even a vestige on incredulity of the notion._

" _Ichigo was the name of my dog."_

 _He froze, and the brunette flashed her sweet smile, amethyst irises shimmering with mirth as a slender arm lifted to pat his cheek._

" _So what does that make you, demon?"_

 _End of Flashback_

In a jarring motion, Rukia deposited the bloodred flower to his hands and stepped back quietly, a cloud of emotions storming her eyes.

"Endurance and times brings change. So does experience. There is beauty in even the darkest of hours, and the strangest of things. If you cannot accept that, then there's nothing left I can say," the young woman finished in a wooden voice, her rigid form turning toward the entrance.

A sliver of lavender cut through the rest of his resolve as her stride stalled, and her head turned slightly.

"Until then, please consider the alternative."

The poise and elegance the Kuchiki girl always carried never wavered, not even as her feet crossed the gates.

Still reeling from what had just occurred, the white-haired man nearly started upon noticing the demon of a butler leaning ever-so-casually against one of the many saplings.

"I see there are many things that you still don't understand," the orange-headed male spoke, the vestiges of a smirk still quite intact.

"There are."

A flicker of surprise surges through chestnut depths, but soon soothes into nothingness as gloved hands tucked into the pockets of his tailcoat with inherent ease.

"Then allow me to enlighten you:

 _In a world of kings,_

 _She is the queen."_

 _Flashback_ — _Two Years Ago_

 _ **8**_ _ **th**_ _ **March, 1872**_

 _ **Location: Kuchiki Manor**_

 _Long after the throes of passion had subsided, Rukia's breathing had evened from breathless pants and the deep scratches lining Ichigo's back was but a dull ache, the petite brunette shifted away from his warmth and pulled the sheets around her slender frame and respired heavily._

 _The moonlight filtered through obsidian tendrils promising starless skies and velvet darkness— and cuts across her visage, casting her in an almost waiflike glow. Her body shifted and the milky column of her throat is left exposed as her chin raised, littered with teeth marks and rubicund welts expertly left behind by her lover._

" _I've never owned a dog before, only rabbits."_

 _Her voice resounded uncharacteristically gentle, a similar expression softening the usual sharpness of her gaze, gleaming with moonshine._

 _She felt Ichigo's gaze on her, his silence a prompt to proceed. An unfamiliar emotion swelled within her heart, borne from the vulnerability evoked from the confession at hand._

 _So, after a deep breath, Rukia continued._

" _There was a story I was fond of as a child, about a young boy named Ichigo. Ichigo means 'he who protects'," she murmured quietly, pulling the silken sheets tighter around her bare frame._

 _She never expected any type of reciprocation, she never does. This is why her eyes, indigo burdened by an innate melancholy, widen with disbelief as a pair of strong arms wrapped around the soft swell of her hips, drawing her back into his temperateness._

" _So she does have a sentimental side," he mused, amusement flickering within chestnut depths as he tightened his hold, the noblewoman's slim form writhed to achieve absolute comfort. "I almost believed in that little front you've built so flawlessly. Almost, my little lord."_

 _Immediately, she gave an unladylike snort._

" _Don't flatter yourself. Though, I do believe the name suits you," the brunette reiterated thoughtfully, heavy-lidded eyes on the verge of falling close as she leaned heavily against his chest._

 _End of Flashback_

* * *

 ** _A/N:_** _So, a lot of flashbacks revolving around Ichigo and Rukia's (complicated) relationship, some of it fashioned off Kuroshitsuji scenes for any fans of the anime. There's already conflict between Toshiro and Rukia. The next chapter will be vastly different, so be prepared for a lot of your favorite characters! Also, what did you guys think of the chapter? R &R please!_


	5. La Petit Mort

_**A.N**_ : _Okay, it's been a while since my last update... College has been keeping me pretty busy lately. But I'm on break and the Christmas craze is over so I should be able to get some writing done before my second semester. Also, not sure if I mentioned this but I have a new role reversal IR fic **Yugakimasu** up with one chapter. Give it a read if you're feeling nostalgic. As for the new canon Bleach material, I have no comments. We're basically kicking into plot with this chapter and hopefully it won't be long until I update. It revolves a lot around the incidents in Aizen's letter, and for those of you who do read/watch Black Butler, please forgive my character placements. So, enjoy!_

* * *

The first fragments of light had yet to filter through the curtains, yet there was already chaos ensuing.

Well, perhaps that was a bit of an exaggeration, but no one could blame the irate Kuchiki for thinking along those lines as Renji (yes, the _cook_ ) made desperate attempts to prevent Ikkaku and Kenpachi from destroying god-knows-what from _her_ house.

The shattering of a vase was when tipped over the iceberg, prompting the young noblewoman to massage her temples, releasing a much-required sigh.

And to think her morning had started off so wonderfully.

 ** _Much, much earlier that morning:_**

 _The last vestiges of darkness fled the sky as streams of light pierced through the foggy breadth of cloud cover. Rukia had long since exhausted her bountiful plethora of complaints given the early hour, and had finally conceded to a bath._

 _At least, that was how the day had begun._

 _Somewhere within the task of getting dressed, the growing. . . tension between both the brunette girl and her butler had finally reached the limit, one of which neither was willing to ignore._

 _So, in short, that was how Rukia's scandalously short undergarments had ended up halfway past her smooth thighs, expert digits pumping flawlessly into her warmth. A moan resonated from the back of her throat, reaching the verge of his ears as a sound both melodious and sensual, evoking every carnal urge and instinct embedded into his being as the flames of arousal licked and licked, with the deft strokes of long fingers buried deep inside her heated centre. In tandem to his ministrations, Ichigo's mouth melded against the soft skin of her neck in a clash of lips, teeth and tongue, relishing in the sweet, fragrant flavour of lavender against her skin._

" _Ichigo," she keened his name low, the pitch of her voice reduced in a soft whine as he mercilessly nipped into a particularly sensitive patch of skin, a condensed growl forming at the base of his throat as her fingers curled inwards and grasped onto orange locks for dear life._

 _Her skin was slick with perspiration as his tongue flattened to soothe the sting, the lethargic and downright lascivious pace of his fingers working between her folds finally picking up. Before the demon's teeth could close over a nipple, the petite girl worked slender digits into his tangerine mass of hair and dragged him back to surface, their lips meeting in a fervent kiss._

" _I've missed you," Rukia gasped, resurfacing from the heated union of their mouths, her modest chest heaving with heavy intakes of breath. "So much," she murmured additionally as his lips traced down the length of her collarbone, littered with bites and welts, and a soft gasp pulled from her throat._

 _Chestnut irises flickered upwards, and as his head shifted — still, in a heady off the assurances of pleasure and the seismic effect of his touch, Rukia found herself appreciating the subtle swell of Ichigo's lips, the raw emotion of desire expressed so profoundly by the fire within hazel depths, and the rumpled condition of his shirt – half-unbuttoned, vest tossed aside. Something about the demon's current appearance seemed so inherently human, and the girl could barely contain the flutter in her chest._

" _It was your choice to cease our…" The man's gaze inadvertently drifted to her breasts, and Rukia was unsure whether to feel appalled or flattered._

"… _Activites," Ichigo finished (rather hoarsely, at that), acutely aware that her walls clenched tight around his fingers, plunged deep inside her._

" _That isn't what you're supposed to say," she snapped almost instantaneously, a delicate sheen of sweat forming against her skin, and the struggle of resolve was a short-lived battle as Rukia let loose another soul-shattering moan, shamelessly rotation her hips against his palm._

 _Ichigo's head dipped low, his free hand kneading into a breast as his mouth sought a rosy peak, swallowing the hardening pebble whole with smooth strokes of his tongue, relishing the sensation of the woman's quivering form beneath him. His palm massaged the neglected breast dutifully, the tip of his tongue circling the hard nub, engulfed in the wet warmth of his mouth._

 _Ding!_

 _Ding!_

 _Ding!_

 _Reluctantly, a disgruntled (and very, very sexually deprived) Ichigo withdrew, broad shoulders rippling with movement as the butler made to stand. "I should get that…"_

" _No," Rukia ground out, equally (if not more) frustrated, a myriad of colourful vocabulary circulating her mind toward the unwanted guest. Swiftly, creamy thighs hooked around the man's waist, forcing their bodies back together, the prominent protuberance threatening to burst from his trousers aligned against her swollen sex._

" _Whoever it is will have to wait," the brunette reiterated seductively, lowering her lashes and arching her back; pert breasts, creamy skin, tousled ebony locks and every single curvature of her body proficiently displayed in a provocative manner that screamed sex appeal._

 _Of course, it was no surprise to either party when Ichigo immediately caged her in, their lips melded together in another desperate kiss as the ringing of the doorbell persisted, though remained unacknowledged by the demon and his lady._

 _That was, until a resounding crash boomed from the front of the manor, followed by the shattering of glass._

 _A simultaneous groan came from both lovers, the fairer of the pair falling back in defeat._

 _A moment of silence stretched, before the gravity of the situation finally occurred to Ichigo and Rukia._

" _I'll oversee damage control," Ichigo said, effectively breaking the silence as he (attempted) to straighten, very much aware of her legs still wrapped around his waist._

" _And I'll get dressed," the brunette replied with resignation, heaving a sigh._

 _ **End Flashback**_

Thankfully, the worst was over, placements for a new door was in order and all of the following debris left in Kenpachi and his unruly companions' wake was removed until further notice, all of the arriving party plus a very annoyed Kuchiki Rukia were seated in the tea room, being currently served by her 'impeccable' butler. When in reality, he was just as disgruntled as she, only Rukia didn't have the ability to generate _that_ type of refreshing behavior on whim. Really, he was more or less projecting sparkles at this point.

It was incredible that she could formulate such a loaded judgment about a man who was about to ravish her less than fifteen minutes ago.

Now, after further thought, the young Kuchiki decided that he had done well to restore chaos (after a tornado such as Kenpachi and company) in such a short period of time, and still managed to be as charming as ever.

Bless his soul— or rather lack thereof, considering he was a demon.

"Now that the unsolicited demolition of my house is over," Rukia started, her hardened stare focused mainly on Ikkaku, Yumichika and Kenpachi. "Would you like to tell me which one of you planned this impromptu visit?"

Her voice remained strangely calm, but a murderous aura persisted, bordering her slight frame as the girl took a dainty sip of tea. Internally, Ichigo pitied some of them— others, like in the case of Mayuri Kurotsuchi (a renowned scientist with quite the penchant for illegal experiments, not to mention dangerous. Rumor has it he once created a monster out of corpse pieces and pure electricity), were already too far gone to feel the full experience of getting on Kuchiki Rukia's bad side. And in this case, attempted breaking-and-entering was a swift mode to end up there.

Everyone simultaneously shifted away from Rangiku, who offered a nervous laugh.

Rukia immediately abandoned her tea and pursed her lips; poised to receive whatever explanation (though, to be realistic, it was going to be an excuse) her aunt was going to offer.

"Heh', well…" the busty woman paused, determined to look anywhere but the direction of her expectant niece, "Since my darling niece was in London, I decided, why not pay a visit?" Rangiku expressed a nervous laugh, praying to whatever being that existed above would believe her.

She was not so lucky.

"Then why did you bring along everyone else then?" the brunette questioned innocently, raising her cup once more. Effortlessly, her gaze slanted.

"Perhaps an agenda?"

"Yare yare, all this conflict," Shunsui murmured good-naturedly, tipping his hat in thanks as Ichigo poured his tea. "Well, Mayuri and I received your letter—"

"And this brute overhead," the aforementioned scientist interjected, yellow irises flickering toward Kenpachi, Yumichika and Ikkaku. The former elegantly sipped at the tea freshly poured, while the latter sniffed cautiously at his own, almost burning his nose in the process.

"And insisted on tagging along. Isn't that right, Nemu?"

Rukia cringed as Mayuri's eyes fixed onto the dispassionate woman currently seated on his lap. She was quite beautiful, but lacked… personality. And it would make sense, seeing as there were still disconcerting rumours that he had actually _created_ her. Not through procreation methods, but more along the lines of (criminal) scientific methods.

"Correct," the expressionless brunette responded, causing Ikkaku to jump. "Mayuri-sama had no control over the matter."

Ichigo stifled a laugh at the whole process of explanation as he poured Mayuri's tea, and his master glared daggers at his back for finding the situation so amusing.

"And what does all of this have to do with you again?" Rukia inquired, barely able to constrain her exasperation as indigo optics flittered back to her aunt, who had remained suspiciously quiet throughout the entire exchange. "I don't even recall contacting you."

Once again, all the attention shifted to the voluptuous blonde, and for once, it was unwelcome.

"See, Kira-kun here," she turned to gesture to her awkward butler at her side, shifting from foot to foot, "was present and since it concerned my _darling_ Rukia, I simply couldn't pass up another opportunity to spend time with you," Matsumoto bubbled, earning you-are-unbelievably-transparent looks from all around.

"And I'm supposed to believe—"

"This aroma is simply marvelous," her aunt interposed quickly, flashing a brilliant smile toward Ichigo. So it did run in the family. "What a unique way of steeping."

The butler smiled modestly and set the teapot at the very center of the table.

"Today's tea is a Jackson's 'Earl Grey'," Ichigo responded graciously, gloved hands clasping behind his back almost automatically.

"Ah, the same type of tea, but the way you make it produces quite a difference," Rangiku murmured appreciatively, so convincingly that one would almost believe this despair was genuine and not simply an articulate diversion to evade Rukia's wrath.

She turned to her own fair-haired butler, tutting lightly. "You should follow his example, Kira."

The blonde jumped, and Rukia became fairly certain that he was quite skittish. "Y-Yes, my lady."

"And you! No matter what, every time I see you, you're still so gorgeous!" Rangiku tittered, and surprised everyone by delivering a hard smack to Ichigo's... rear, who jumped in surprise. "Why don't you simply stop working here and serve me?"

Thankfully, everyone else was too distracted by Matsumoto's blatant molestation of the household's butler to notice that Rukia had dropped her cup right into its saucer.

"He is rather beautiful," Yumichika agreed wistfully, and a vein throbbed against the brunette's temple.

Ikakku, who had prior been too busy stuffing himself with complementary crumpets, stared at his colleague with wide eyes. "Did you just call a man 'beautiful'?"

"Beauty has no gender," Yumichiki countered haughtily.

"Knock it off, both of ya!" Kenpachi snapped, patience wearing thin.

The same could be said for Rukia. Although this man was the single-handed force behind the destruction of her living room, she found herself internally thankful for at least one other rational soul.

"I honestly came here to see if Kuchiki found out anything about this 'Jack the Ripper' madman, 'fraid I can't speak for the rest of ya'," the eyepatched man elucidated gruffly, folding his beefy arms across his chest and staring down at his own tea as though it had deeply wronged him.

Kurotsuchi's eyes narrowed. "As did I."

"I second," floated over Shunsui's merry tone.

Upon this response, the diminutive female sighed, and steepled digits against her temple, as though an attempt to dissuade a rather insistent migraine. To be quite fair, with this dreadful blend of company, who could blame her? Ichigo could certainly sympathize after being fondled by her eccentric aunt, and silently returned to his master's side.

"I haven't the chance to uncover anything pertaining to the Jack the Ripper phenomenon yet," Rukia admitted slowly, toying with the ceramic handle of her cup lightly. "I meant to contact you all and arrange a meeting once I had made some progress, but seeing as we're all here, I won't waste any of our time."

The girl's gaze shifted towards her butler swiftly, and amethyst locked with amber.

"Ichigo, prepare the carriage," she commanded softly, rising to her feet. "We'll be visiting an old friend. And you're all welcome to accompany me."

"… What is this place?" Mayuri asked, his outlandish features wrinkling in distaste the more he stared at the building they were currently standing before.

Out of the considerably large party, only Mayuri, Shunsui, Rangiku, Izuru, Ichigo and Rukia remained. Kenpachi, Ikakku and Yumichika had found the excursion tedious and decided to leave, while Nemu remained in the care of the rest of the Kuchiki Manor's servants.

* * *

A large, crooked sign emboldened the words 'UNDERTAKER' coupled with a spectral skull across the very front of the decrepit building. Rats and moles scurried across the doorway, where frayed cobwebs streamed from every corner. The most startling aspect of the establishment's appearance was the various coffins leaned against the walls, gaping open to reveal scuttling spiders and intricate webs. A dark aura seemed to emanate from the building itself, eerie and unnerving in a manner that did not instil danger, but unease.

"WHY ARE YOU FAMILIAR WITH A PLACE LIKE THIS?!" Rangiku burst out, pointing an accusing finger at her niece, who was one of the only two from their group who seemed unconcerned.

However, it was Ichigo who answered.

"Because the young master's acquaintance works as an 'undertaker'."

As the demon pushed the door open, the rusty hinges elicited a prolonged, vitriolic groan, inciting a unanimous cringe from each person as the sound ebbed into slight squeak. Rukia stepped in soon after, and so followed, though hesitantly, in the case of Matsumoto. Since Izuru was easily alarmed, everyone thought it best for him to tend to the carriages instead of entering.

"Are you here, Urahara?" Rukia called out, and her lavender gaze swept the area cautiously. He did have a nasty tendency of popping in and out of places unexpectedly, and she was well-versed with his antics.

"Yare yare, I knew you would come…" An amused voice drifted across the room. Rangiku and Shunsui simultaneously looked around, Kurotsuchi managed to keep his expression free of any signs of restlessness, even though everything else suggested otherwise.

"Welcome, Kuchiki-san~."

The tapered shoulder of a nearby shoulder creaked open, revealing a man with a head of unruly, golden hair and a striped hat that cast an uncanny shadow across his eyes.

Everyone (excluding Ichigo and Rukia, of course) immediately jumped away, and an expression of pure horror remained etched upon the busty blonde's face.

Urahara Kisuke stepped out in the dim glow of the pseudo-morgue, his trademark fan held high over his mouth to conceal his delight.

"I don't have the time for your games, Urahara," the tiny lord expressed through a sigh, arms folding over her chest.

"You needn't tell me, Kuchiki-san, I know why you're here," the bizarre undertaker hummed under the protection of his fan, covertly disguising a wide grin. "Since you went out of your way to visit my humble abode, I'll certainly do my best to assist you."

Rukia didn't particularly like the sound of that, but offered a nod in return. "How much do you know about Jack the Ripper?" she asked, lips pursing into each other.

His grin widened. "More than you'll ever believe. But first, all of you, do take a seat." The dishevelled man gestured around to the array of closed coffins surrounding them.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rukia observed visible unease within her aunt and a flicker of dubiousness from Mayuri and Shunsui. Given the fact that most of those caskets presumably did contain corpses, she couldn't exactly blame them either.

She took a prim seat at the edge of a particularly broad one and crossed her legs. In the flutter of a dark tailcoat, her butler was at her side in the fraction of a second.

Once everyone was (rather reluctantly) seated, Urahara made himself at home with a brewed cup of tea. He offered them the same luxury, but was met with a unanimous rejection. Seeing as the man had freshly emerged from a casket, no one could blame them for being so quick to refuse. Though, Rukia was surprised Shunsui was lumped together with the rest. Though, considering the fact that tea contained no traces of alcohol, perhaps his reasoning was entirely different from the other two. Her aunt was afraid of her own shadow and Mayuri seemed one indiscretion away from detonating. Literally.

Herself? She just didn't trust Urahara. At all.

"So, you want to know about Jack the Ripper? Such a frightening thought seems to be the cause of disturbance to many of us here," the fair-haired man chuckled, the base of his cup clinking against its saucer.

Under the shadow of his hat, eyes of a cool grey flickered toward the petite lord.

"But not to worry, as this isn't the first time I've dealt with something like this!" He finished brightly, and such a statement evoked _quite_ a reaction.

Shunsui leaned closer to murmur to Kurotsuchi. Rukia's head snapped forward so fast it was incredible her neck was still in place. For once, Rangiku was actually the calm one. Her niece wondered why.

"This isn't the first time? What do you mean?" the blonde asked, a tint of worry colouring her tone.

"It's happened before, a case where prostitutes were being killed off," Urahara replied conversationally, a dog biscuit in his mouth.

He offered the tin to Rukia, whose gaze slanted as she moved in to whack the container away.

"The very same way, too," the mortician hummed, swiftly shifting the biscuit tin away before tucking it under his arm. "What happened back then and what's happening right now bear one common factor."

Urahara leaned in, fastening the container close. "That commonality, I'm sure the lovely Earl has already chanced upon it. Isn't that right, Rukia-san?" he inquired cheerfully, lowering his hat a notch.

Rukia folded her arms across her chest, heaving a sigh while gracing her company with a small nod.

"Missing internal organs," she murmured, her violet gaze flickering toward the golden-haired male, grinning away gleefully under the shade of his fan. "Am I wrong?"

"Correct, but only to an extent, my dear," Urahara chortled, sheltered eyes glinting with mischief. " _What_ was missing is the real question you should be asking yourself."

"Well? Would anyone like to chance a guess? No? Yare yare, well in that case…" With a flick of his fan, the undertaker rose from his seat, circling the room, only to end up leaning against a dummy (and almost losing balance as a result).

"Internal organs, yes, but something very specific," The dim lighting cast flickering shadows across the mortician's visage, a suiting effect given the topic at hand.

"These prostitutes, when they arrived here, were not whole women anymore, you see. Because their wombs were missing."

Slinging an arm around the mannequin-like figure, the light-haired man's gaze flickered toward the diminutive female. Her brows crested together, and through the troubled expression marring her features, Urahara could tell that the young lord hadn't been able to deduce anything this far, and were now considering the possibility.

Shunsui was the first to react; Rangiku remained with a troubled expression as the conversation advanced, and Kurotsuchi seemed mostly fascinated by Urahara. Well, not fascination, to be precise, but conducted careful observation of the eccentric male, in a manner that was frankly perturbing.

"Given that not many people would be walking the streets late at night…" the nobleman uttered, removing his own strawhat before looking Urahara dead in the eye.

"Still, working that efficiently out in the open surely couldn't be easy for the average man, such as you and myself." Out of everyone, (even Rukia herself; and excluding Ichigo) Shunsui appeared most at ease in the current vicinity.

Either way, the fact that he classed Urahara as an 'average man' (considering the fact that said man popped out of a coffin just for laughs, and was currently embracing a dummy) was a bit too much for one day.

"Exactly my point," the mortician replied cheerfully, and once more, his dark eyes glinted in Rukia's direction. "I would be quite surprised if Kuchiki-san didn't figure this much out~."

The girl in question scowled and folded her arms over her chest.

"Of course," she said briskly, a brow arching, "The person behind these attacks would have to possess certain surgical skills."

Urahara let loose a pitched bout of laughter, and everyone except Ichigo and Rukia (who were far too used to his antics) covered their ears promptly.

"Correct, my dear! Now if only we had any leads as to who this mysterious person could be…" As if on cue, Urahara placed a finger on his chin, pretending to think.

"Oh wait, I do!" he cried jovially from behind another wooden coffin, creaking under his weight, fluttering his fan innocently.

"… But this will come with a price."

Rangiku and Shunsui exchanged worried looks.

Mayuri leaned in.

Ichigo wore an amused look.

Rukia rolled her eyes.

"… And all you have to do is show me a _first rate laugh!_ " Urahara cackled, hiding behind his fan.

This brought about various reactions. Mayuri completely refused to comply, while Rangiku and Shunsui jumped at the chance to showcase their most suggestive. Rukia heard none of which, because her butler had covered her ears, an action that made her shoot daggers at him, given the blatant hypocrisy.

However, none of this mattered, because they all found themselves right where they had been before; in front of Urahara's grotesque morgue. Even Rukia had been kicked out, much to her dismay, as it was Ichigo's turn and he had requested 'privacy'. The noblewoman had a sneaking suspicion that whatever was about to be said involved her.

Within seconds, the mortuary shook as Urahara's unmistakable, raucous laughter echoed loud. The door burst open, the man himself still convulsed in hysterics as clung to the doorframe.

One by one, the strange group shuffled in, with Rangiku quite ruffled and indignant. Clearly, it was her opinion that whatever Ichigo had said to the mortician _couldn't_ have been funnier than anything she could have come with herself.

"Well done, Kurosaki-san~. I must say, I'll have quite the difficult time forgetting _that_ one," Urahara chortled, and Rukia had a hard time trying not to pin her butler, who had settled down smugly at her side, with a murderous glare. After all, it was hard to miss that Urahara had glanced in her direction, if only fleetingly.

"Yare yare, don't keep us in suspense any longer, Urahara-san," Shunsui said pleasantly, pouring himself another cup of steaming tea. "Who is the culprit behind these gruesome murders?"

"Right, right, thank you for reminding me!" the sandy-haired man replied cheerfully, glancing at them behind his fan. It seemed like he was straining to amuse himself.

"I don't suppose any of you have heard of Charlotte Chuhlhourne?" Urahara said slyly.

"I have," said Kurotsuchi suddenly, his nose wrinkling in distaste. "What an insolent little man."

"He doesn't exactly fit the profile of a murderer," Rukia added thoughtfully, a finger resting against her chin. "But I have caught word that he might be involved in some illegal activities."

"He happens to be a renowned surgeon," said Shunsui, nodding as though all the pieces were coming together. "He hosts a gala every other month— I believe tomorrow evening is the next one."

It seemed as though everyone there either met, or at least knew of the man in question.

Everyone that is, except Matsumoto.

"Ooh… Then, I can seduce him at the gala!" the strawberry-blonde exclaimed excitedly, almost spilling the rest of her tea.

Everyone stared at her, and struggled not to laugh.

"I don't think that would work out so well," Rukia said slowly, the side of her mouth twitching.

Rangiku looked aghast. "And why not?!"

"Perhaps the fact that he happens to be a flaming homosexual?" Urahara suggested innocently, hiding behind his fan. "I'd suggest another course of action if I were you~."

Rukia stood up, and Ichigo did soon after. "If this is all, then we should be on our way. We won't inconvenience you any longer."

"You've never been an inconvenience to me, Kuchiki-san~," the eccentric man sang out, fanning himself. "Only a shame Yoruichi-san was out during your visit, she would have _loved_ to see you both."

"I'm sure she would have," Ichigo mumbled through gritted teeth.

Rukia elbowed him, and plastered on a faux smile. "We appreciate the help, Urahara-san. We'll phone you if anything else happens."

The rest of the party said their goodbyes as well. Just as Rukia was about to leave as well, Ichigo caught her by the arm.

"I'll be there soon," he uttered quietly, and she nodded quickly, quickening her pace to catch up with her aunt. Ichigo lingered, leaning against one of the coffins with inborn ease.

"How can I help you now, Kurosaki-san? It must be mighty important, seeing as you usually never leave Kuchiki-san's side~."

A man who knew of the butler's true nature who have never been as relaxed, but Urahara was a whole different breed. He grinned from beneath the shade of his hat and leaned in expectantly.

However, it was apparent that Ichigo was in no mood to joke around. He exhaled a sigh, and folded his hands behind his back.

"You informed me that Hitsugaya Toshiro was dead, is that correct?" His amber gaze burned at Urahara, who merely fanned himself innocently, feigning a shocked expression.

"My, did I say _that_? I must have mistaken him for his father then."

Though Urahara seemed thoroughly sincere, Ichigo knew better than to believe his words. A tangerine brow ticked, and a sigh bloomed from within the orangette's chest.

"Did you really? Although you might intend for others to believe otherwise, you're not the type of person to make mistakes, Urahara," the demon pointed out lightly, his brows furrowed.

"And if Kuchiki-san knew that the man she was going to marry, _her childhood friend_ was still alive, do you think she would have taken to you so easily?" the mortician said slyly, grinning knowingly behind his fan. "Attracted, yes, but Kuchiki-san is a person who abides by her promises. So, really, I was doing you a favor~. Yoruichi tells me that your relationship has gotten past its complications, anyway."

Urahara shrugged lightly and Ichigo's mouth dropped, looking horrified.

"H-how does she _know_ —"

"Like I would ever tell you," he cackled, thoroughly enjoying watching the younger male fume. "We need to keep tabs _somehow_ , you know. If only you hadn't left that window open—"

Before he could finish his sentence, a coffin was hurled his way and Ichigo was already out the door.

Chuckling to himself, Urahara straightened, fixing his hat back on his head. He gazed at the door, half-closed, a rare, wistful smile on his face.

"Ah, they grow up so fast, Isshin."

* * *

 _Please read & review!_


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